Driftwood
by Klainey
Summary: It happens that two pieces of driftwood find eachother on the oceans, just because the waves around them are so violent.   Whatever happens to them after that meeting, they will never be the same. Klaine, one-shot.


**It happens that two pieces of driftwood find eachother on the oceans, just because the waves around them are so violent. **

He stuck out, his tailored black jacket between the dark navy with flashes of maroon, the boy on the staircase. He looked so out of place, when he touched the other boy's shoulder in an attempt to catch his attention. A touch that would change everything.

He seemed broken, the way he desperately clutched his coffee cup, his face screwed up in a vain attempt to keep the tears inside. He told him to have courage, but as it turned out, courage can backfire too.

**They may just bump into eachother briefly, but that one touch makes a big difference. **

Silently he is grateful for the little yellow bird to pick this moment to die, however, he'd never say anything like that to Kurt. But then he starts to sing Blackbird and something inside of him shifts, changes. The next day he goes to him, finds him decorating the casket for the poor bird. He tells him about his idea for the duet, but he sees right through him.

_Oh, there you are. I've been looking for you forever._

Their lips touch and suddenly he knows that it doesn't matter where he goes, as long as he's got _Kurt_.

**They will bump into other pieces of debris floating around, and alter their route on the waves**

It was the day they graduated. The sun pounded merciless on their graduation caps and they were all sweating in their heavy gowns. Their names got called, diploma's switched owners and suddenly the air was a blur of red caps and blue summer sky. The atmosphere was loaded with happiness, excitement, hope, but also sadness, because it will be the last time for so many things.

The last time they will ever walk through these hallways as students.

The last time they will sing together in Glee Club.

The last time they will see some of their friends.

**They will float back apart;**

They moved to New York, getting too small an apartment for too high a price, but they managed. At night they would lie in bed, just holding eachother. Savoring eachother's warmth under three fleece blankets when the landlord had once again shut off the gas or the electricity. They had to play and sing in small forgotten coffee shops, ordering non-fat mocha's and medium drips if they had the money. But they managed.

Their studies were tough. He knew he hadn't had as much time for Kurt as he'd have liked. When he pointed it out, Kurt had reacted all but understanding. He had yelled, shouted things they should have sorted out a long time ago. He'd never forget the way Kurt's eyes seemed even bigger when he was on the verge of crying. His lower lip had quivered a little, causing him to take one step, one step was all it took to make Kurt realize he might be better of without him.

Maybe if he would have made more time to go on dates with Kurt, he would still have him. Maybe if he would have taken better care of him, he wouldn't have gone away. Maybe if…

It was the day after New Years day. He came home to an almost empty apartment. No traces of Kurt wherever he looked, his closet was empty, the many bottles of product that normally crowded the bathroom sink were all gone. All that was left was the little note on the coffee table, the one they used to eat take-out on, cracking jokes, talking about their day, watching Disney movies, singing along to the Little Mermaid.

_I'm sorry,_

_Kurt_

**They will change; get rough from the constant abuse of the waves around them;**

He collapsed on the rough, beige carpet, a color Kurt had picked. He didn't know when he started crying. He didn't know when he stopped. He didn't know if he slept. He didn't know if he ate. The only thing he knew was that Kurt, the only one keeping him sane in all this craziness, was gone. The bed, still neatly made up from the day he had left, he couldn't sleep in because he knew it would be cold on one side, and he would wake up with nothing but the warmth of his own arms and the blankets wrapped around him.

He didn't answer his phone, he didn't go to work, he didn't do the groceries, he didn't go outside anymore because there was no one left to come home to. The only thing left was the note.

After a few weeks he realized it was time to move on, pull himself together and accept that life just goes on, no matter how badly you want to just put in on pause for a second to contemplate your next move. Life goes on, even without someone to share it with.

Winter had struck the crowded streets and squares in New York City. A thin layer of snow covered everything, sometimes pure white, other times the muddy brown that can only be created by hundreds of people walking over it.

He still played in coffee shops, but his songs were dark and sad. Sometimes he ordered a mocha, hoping the taste would bring back memories of long lost coffee dates before school, and the way those kisses tasted. Silently hoping it would bring _him_ back. But it never did.

Everyday he goes to Times Square. Stares at the thousands of faces going by, but there never is the one face he wants to see the most. Everyday he goes to Central Park, looking at the couples going by. Deep inside he _wants_ to see him with another man, even if it was just to make sure he's happy, but he never sees him.

Two years go by before he sees him again. It's just another day of playing guitar in Central park, hoping for a sweet soul to toss him a dollar or two when he suddenly hears a very familiar voice chime in with the song he is playing.

They lock eyes as he keeps on playing and Kurt keeps on singing.

When the song ends they both look away, until he suggests to go for coffee.

A non-fat mocha and a medium drip is all it takes for them to start to talk. Not everything is back to normal at once, oh no. They have both changed. Two years of looking for someone. Two years of trying to forget someone. That leaves its scars on a soul. But they're scars, not wounds anymore. They are healed now but there is still the rough edge where the knife stabbed into their hearts.

But they can move on.

**Yet somehow, some of those pieces of driftwood will meet again, and wash ashore together, embedded in the sand until someone finds them. **

-Fin-


End file.
